


Blooming in the Shadows

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 04, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: His mouth opens and closes again, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. You hate yourself for the tiny flare of hope that springs up inside you.“If you go now, you don’t get to come back.”And… that’s it. The last piece of your already fragile heart breaks. You’re surprised it isn’t an audible sound. A tear slips down your cheek, but you’re too exhausted to wipe it away.“I have to go,” Is all you can say, softly, and you watch as he takes a half step towards you before stopping, clenching his fists at his sides. He turns on his heel and heads inside without so much as a backwards glance, and only when you’re in the car, pulling out onto the main road, do you let the rest of your tears fall.OR;You and Dean Winchester are barely friends. His sudden reappearance from Hell brings you together, and you find yourself right back in the life you ran away from when you were a teenager. (Canon AU that takes place during season 4, specifically starting at 4.01 - for reference, Dean is 29)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another Dean reader insert series! This one is complete, and new chapters will be posted every Friday for the next few weeks. :) 
> 
> I don’t own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. I also don’t own “Love is a Wild Thing” by Kacey Musgraves, which I used lyrics from for the title. I do own original elements of the plot. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission!

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk slowly across the parking lot, your gun at the ready, your heart hammering in your ears. You feel half-deaf - the high pitched noise from a few minutes earlier enough to knock out the windows in this gas station, and the hearing from your ears.

It makes you jumpy - worried that something is going to have an advantage over you because your senses are muted.

Your car had all but died driving down this lonely stretch of highway, your hunter senses instantly on alert when the radio fizzled and faded out, your engine following suit soon after. Your car windows were the next things to bite it - the sound so piercing it shattered every window. You’ll have time to be embarrassed about the pained scream you had let out later.

“What the hell…” you whisper, looking at the doorway and the blown out windows, seeing salt lines spread across.

“Hands up.” A deep voice from behind you startles you, and you curse as you flinch. “Where I can see both of them.”

You turn slowly, and your hand drops when you realize who you’re looking at. “Jesus Christ–” you curse, gun flying back up at the ready.

His eyes widen as he recognizes you, and your own eyes harden, because no matter what your eyes are telling you, your heart knows this is  _not_  Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester is in hell.

“Kid, you have no idea how good it is to see you.”

Another strike. The Dean you know would never be happy to see you, no matter the circumstances. “Don’t move,” you hiss, taking a step towards  _it_. “Don’t fucking move or I swear, I’ll–”

“It’s me.”

Strike three.

“Bull _shit_. Give me one reason I shouldn’t take a shot right now.” You will your hands not to shake. You need to have the upper hand here.

“Do the checks.” His voice is sharp. You flinch again, cursing under your breath softly. “Do it.”

Still aiming your gun with one hand, you take a step closer, pulling a knife from your back pocket. He’s in short sleeves, so it’s not difficult to slowly move down, eyes on his, nicking him with the silver knife.

If he hears your audible sigh of relief, he doesn’t say anything.

“Wait,” you say before he can move, “One more.” The knife goes back in your pocket. You did your flask out of your other pocket. A quick flick of your wrist and his face is doused in holy water. His eyes scrunch in discomfort, but otherwise there’s no sizzling of flesh, no screams of fury.

It’s him. It’s  _Dean_.

You both stare at each other, not sure what to do. You’ve never been huggers, so you say the only thing you can think of.

“Dean, what the  _hell_?”

~~~~

Hours later, your hearing is almost back to normal as you sit with Dean in the grimy restroom of the gas station, watching as he washes his face and takes some antiseptic to the cuts littering his forearms and face. He winces, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You look away quickly.

“So…” He starts, clearing his throat. “Come here often?”

You meet his gaze with a blank look. “I was driving. Car stopped. Then the noise, and… you know the rest, I guess.” You stand, starting to pace. “How are you here? How is this possible? Sam–”

“Sam said I was in hell.”

You shrug. “Well, yeah.”

“Didn’t know you two still talked.”

You roll your eyes. “Are we really going to do this right now? One of you was going to hell - he thought I should know about it.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to tell him how typical it is that he’s ignoring you even though you’re literally the only one who can get him out of here right now– you see that he’s staring at his shoulder.

There’s a fucking handprint  _burned_  into his arm.

“What the–”

“ _Fuck_.” Dean finishes, and you think it’s the only time the two of you have ever been on the same page in your entire lives.

“Don’t panic,” you say, more to yourself than him, but he takes offense anyway.

“I’m not panicking.  _You_ don’t panic.”

“I wasn’t–” You stop yourself with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Never mind. We have to get out of here. Whatever that was… I don’t really feel like sticking around to find out how pissed it’s going to be when it comes back.”

Begrudgingly, he agrees. You gather up your bag and sling it over your shoulder, Dean following you out of the building, the sunlight reflecting off the broken glass making you shield your eyes.

Your car is only about fifty feet away. Dean stops halfway there. “Your car?”

You groan. “Really, Dean? How else are we supposed to get out of here?”

He glares. “I meant – you said your engine died. Am I going to have to work on this car?” The  _again_ goes without saying, images of a teenage Dean grumbling as he changes the oil in your car flashing through your head.

You shrug. “I guess so, I don’t know. I didn’t do this on purpose, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he’s not arguing either, so you take it as a win. He opens the hood and you watch as he goes to work with the few tools you had in the trunk, grumbling to himself the entire time.

You can’t help but be on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop - either for whatever blew out the windows in town to show up again, or for Dean to decide he’s had enough and leave you here.

“Get inside and turn the key, kid,” Dean says, and for once you don’t argue. You get in the driver’s seat and start the engine, laughing triumphantly when it starts right up. Dean peers around the hood, an answering grin on his face. He shuts the hood and slides into the passenger seat, tossing both of your bags over his shoulder and into the back seat.

“Careful, the glass–”

“Just drive,” Dean says, “You remember the way to Bobby’s?”

You glare at him, the car still in park. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Just wondered if you remembered where it was, seeing as how you turned tail and never came back as soon as you were old enough–”

“You can walk there, if you’d like.” Your voice is cold. You  _hate_  him. You hate that he has the ability to make you feel like you’re the absolute scum of the earth. As if you don’t feel enough guilt about the way you left things all those years ago.

“I’m–” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly. He lets out a deep exhale. “Sorry. I’m just–”

“I know.” You keep your voice quiet. “Let’s just– we’ll get to Bobby’s and he’ll know what to do.” Almost to yourself, you repeat it. “He’ll know what to do.”

Your foot hits the gas, and you start to drive.

.

.

.

Bobby reacts much in the same way you had, splashing holy water in  _both_  of your faces before he grabs Dean into a bone crushing hug. You stand there, arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to remind yourself that there’s clearly something bigger going on here, so you don’t have time to feel like an outsider.

“Don’t just stand there,” Bobby says, gruff, grabbing your elbow and tugging you in, so you’re awkwardly pinned underneath Bobby’s arm and pressed up against Dean’s side, the weirdest group hug in the history of mankind.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, “I hate to break up this happy family moment, but we have to figure out what the hell is going on. How long have I been gone? Where’s Sam?”

You could hear a pin drop.

“It’s been four months,” You say quietly.

“That’s it?” Dean looks back and forth between you and Bobby. “That doesn’t answer my other question.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from Sam since we buried you.” Bobby says, and you freeze. Yikes, that’s not what you were expecting.

“Since you  _buried_  me? What the hell?” Dean asks through grit teeth.

“Sam was dead set against a hunter’s funeral. I couldn’t– it wasn’t my decision to make. Lucky for you,” He adds, glaring at Dean, who rolls his eyes.

“No one’s heard from Sam in months?” He looks back at you.

You shrug. “He called me when– when you died. That’s the last I heard from him.”

“He doesn’t want to be found, Dean.” Bobby says.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I– I need some air. We need to find him.” Dean says, voice tight, before he pushes through the screen door and out into the yard.

You watch him go, wary, before looking back over at Bobby, who’s already looking at you. “What?”

“Did you get him out?” Bobby asks, almost a growl.

“Excuse me?”

“You brought him here. He was supposed to be in hell.” Bobby takes a step closer. “Did you make a deal?”

The air is practically sucked out of your lungs. Jesus, no wonder Bobby is so pissed all of a sudden. “No! God, Bobby.” You cross your arms tight over your chest. “I  _found_  him. It was coincidence, the whole thing. I don’t know any more than you do about how he got out.”

“I’m just saying, I know how you feel–”

You hold your hand up, “Stop right there. I don’t  _feel_  anything.” You’re so angry you can barely see straight. It’s not like you’re not relieved Dean isn’t being tortured in hell. No matter how much you two can’t stand each other, you’d never wish that on him. But you absolutely  _do not_  have feelings for him.

Maybe you did once, when you were young and stupid and didn’t know how the world worked. Before you realized what a fucking cliche it was - a young, starry-eyed hunter and the over-protective, broody type. God. What a riot. Sure, you thought he was attractive. You knew deep down he was a good person. It was easy for you to develop a crush on him when you were sixteen and constantly in close quarters with him.

But then he developed a mean streak, and you received the message loud and clear. You hit the road as soon as you felt confident enough to hunt on your own, and didn’t look back.

_**10 years earlier…** _

_You’re struggling to keep your voice down as you stand almost toe to toe with Bobby in the kitchen, very aware of the Winchesters asleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs._

_“I’m not asking for your permission,” you tell him._

_“Good, because I’m not giving it.” He fires back._

_You resist the urge to stomp your foot. Certainly wouldn’t help your case. “Bobby, I– I am_ so grateful  _to you. You have no idea. But I have to do this. I can’t stay here anymore. I’m just in the way.”_

_“You’re not in the way. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”_

_“What’s going on?” A deep voice interrupts, and you turn to look at Dean standing at the bottom of the stairs._

_He looks between you and Bobby, and then his gaze finally settles on the bag at your feet._

_“Going somewhere?”_

_“I’m not doing this. I’ll call when I get to a motel,” you say, leaning in to give Bobby a hug before he can say anything else._

_Dean says your name, but you ignore him. You shoulder your way out the front door, trying like hell to keep your tears at bay, because despite what Bobby thinks, this actually isn’t the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do._

_“Hey!”_

_You stop, shoulders slumping as you hear his voice. Jesus, you really don’t want to argue with him. Not now._

_“What the hell is going on?” His eyes are a little wild. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the night. “Where are you going?”_

_“I’m leaving.” You take the few remaining steps towards your car, wrenching open the driver’s side back door to toss your bag onto the seat._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“God!” You whirl around, “Why is this so hard for everyone to understand! I’m leaving. I’m going to hunt on my own, or find some friends, or whatever. I’m going.”_

_Dean actually looks a little speechless, which would be a first for him. “Why?”_

_You can’t help it, you laugh. You laugh so hard you know he’s probably thinking you’re possessed. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Dean? Now it’ll be just the three of you, the way it was before I came along and ruined everything.”_

_He looks like you’ve slapped him across the face. “I never–”_

_“Yes, you did. Look, I don’t know what I ever did to make you hate me so much, after all, it wasn’t my fault that demon killed my parents and I had nowhere else to go. But you do, and I can’t– living here with all of you and constantly feeling like I don’t belong here is… it’s_ suffocating _. I can’t stand it anymore. So I’m going.”_

_Dean shifts his weight, his hands going to his hips. “What about Bobby? Sam? You’re just going to turn your back on them.”_

_You try not to flinch at the way he pointedly leaves himself out of the list of people you care about._

_“I’m not turning my back on anyone. I don’t belong here. I never have.” You can’t help but add, “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”_

_His mouth opens and closes again, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. You hate yourself for the tiny flare of hope that springs up inside you._

_“If you go now, you don’t get to come back.”_

_And… that’s it. The last piece of your already fragile heart breaks. You’re surprised it isn’t an audible sound. A tear slips down your cheek, but you’re too exhausted to wipe it away._

_“I have to go,” Is all you can say, softly, and you watch as he takes a half step towards you before stopping, clenching his fists at his sides. He turns on his heel and heads inside without so much as a backwards glance, and only when you’re in the car, pulling out onto the main road, do you let the rest of your tears fall._

_**Now** _

Bobby checks you over for a concussion even though you insist you’re fine, and you convince him to go check on Dean, too.

You take the precious few minutes you’re alone to reacquaint yourself with the old house, running your fingers reverently over the spines of the books on the shelves, and smiling at the pictures of the Winchesters and Bobby.

You have to remember that whatever is going on here is bigger than you. It’s bigger than whatever bad blood there is between you and Dean. You decide you’re going to take the high road and help them with whatever this is, but leave as soon as they’ve got it handled. You won’t be a burden to them. Not anymore.

When they come back in, Dean’s sleeve is rolled up again, the edges of that burn mark peeking out underneath black cotton. You try not to stare at it.

“I got a hit on the GPS on Sam’s phone.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot more back story and dialogue in this part. Not as long as the others, but more action to come next week!

Dean fights the urge to scratch at the burn mark on his shoulder. Bobby notices, and frowns.

“That thing bothering you?”

“Only because I don’t know how the hell it got there.” Dean replies, scowling. He’s still confused, and thinks he might end up in a permanent state of confusion if he doesn’t get some answers soon.

He doesn’t understand who or what pulled him out of the pit, or why, and he doesn’t understand how you of all people were the one to find him. He doesn’t understand why Sam isn’t here.

His first thought when he saw you there, in the gas station, was that you were the one to get him out. It sounded… completely unreasonable. You just wouldn’t do that. But besides Sam, who else would do it? Bobby, maybe. But he wasn’t that reckless.

“Listen, I think you should get some rest before you go find Sam.”

Dean wants to argue. For being basically dead for the last 4 months, he feels like he hasn’t slept in years. The idea of stuffing his face with some pizza and passing out on the couch also seems like a good idea, though.

“Yeah. I’ll go in the morning.”

“Take her with you, will you?” Bobby asks, and holds up a hand before Dean can protest. “You need someone watching your back.”

Dean doesn’t answer. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you move around in the kitchen, gathering up a plate. The sound of the cupboards opening and closing takes him back to another time, years ago, before everything went to shit.

“Fine. It’s going to take us a few days to get there though, and if we kill each other on the way, it’ll be your fault.” Dean says, and he’s only half-kidding.

Later, Dean’s exhausted but he doesn’t let himself close his eyes. He can’t. If he does, he knows what he’ll see behind his closed eyelids, and he won’t risk it.

Goosebumps break out across his arms at the thought, and he hopes you haven’t noticed. You’re looking at him from across the room in the easy chair though, and he wants to curse, because despite how many years there are between you now, he still knows you’re the most perceptive, observant person he’s ever met. Not much gets past you.

While he’s in need of a distraction, his finds himself taking you in, from the cuts littering your jaw and arms from the glass exploding out of your car to the freckles dusting your cheekbones, Dean idly wonders how long it’s been since the last time he’s seen you.

You’ve popped in for hunts here and there, but mostly made yourself scarce. He thinks the last time he really hunted with you was three years ago, and even then he made sure Sam was around to act as a buffer between the two of you.

“You need to eat something.” You say, and he glances over, face neutral. “At least eat a sandwich.”

Dean can’t stand the look in your eyes - something like pity - so he lashes out. “What do you care?”

You flinch. You try to hide it, but Dean can see the hurt behind your rapid blinks before you slip back into nonchalance.

“Fine.” You stand up and head towards the stairs, but stop. “You know,” you don’t turn around, “If we’re going to do this, you need to get over whatever childish grudge you’re holding.”

“I’m not–”

“I’d love to get back in my car and head back to my friends, but you need my help. And despite whatever you think about me, I still kind of care if you’re alive or dead. So I’m going with you.”

You go upstairs before Dean can get a word in, and he tries not to let your words get to him so much. He shouldn’t care that you hate his guts. He shouldn’t care that you’ve suddenly shown up again after years of distancing yourself.

Before he can close his eyes, the TV starts to get fuzzy in front of him, and the lights start to flicker. Dean’s on his feet in an instant, already preparing for the noise he knows is about to come.

Sure enough, the high pitched wail almost brings him to his knees, and before he can get his bearings, you’re barreling down the stairs, gun drawn, Bobby close behind you.

Wide-eyed, you stare at him. “Shit,” you breathe, and he nods in agreement.

“We have to go. Now.”

.

.

.

Dean is behind the wheel because if he can’t be in control of even just this one thing, he’s going to lose it.

It’s an old car of Bobby’s, not a muscle car, but it’ll get the both of you to where you need to go, and that’s all that matters. Urgency thrums in Dean’s veins.

He thinks he should be tired, but all he feels is adrenaline. Going on no sleep probably isn’t a good idea, but he can’t risk that whatever’s tracking him down is going to find him when he’s his most vulnerable.

He glances over at you and sees you slumped against the window, looking miserable. He wonders if you’re just like this all the time or if it’s specifically his presence that’s making you look like someone kicked your puppy.

“I only have enough money for one room tonight,” you say, voice low. “Bobby wanted to spot us but–”

“One room is fine,” he says automatically, not really thinking about what it’s going to be like to be in close quarters for a day or two.

He feels your eyes on him and tries not to feel uncomfortable under your gaze. He can’t help it. “What?” He finally snaps, and hears you huff.

“Nothing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re going to be stuck with each other for a few days–” You snort in amusement, but Dean ignores it, “We might as well be civil.”

“I’ve been perfectly pleasant.”

Dean feels like if he clenches his jaw any tighter, he might break a tooth. “Whatever. Look I’m–” He shakes his head, not even sure where to begin. “Never mind. Let’s just find a place and get some sleep.”

Almost as if on cue, the neon lights of a motel shine like a beacon in the darkness up ahead. If Dean presses down a little harder on the accelerator, you don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t say anything. The atmosphere inside the car is tense and near suffocating.

There’s a brief moment where Dean hates himself. Because even though he’s told himself for years that your decision to leave was just that - yours - he knows he didn’t help matters.

You’re out of the car before he can even put it into park, marching into the motel office like you own the place, and Dean exhales loudly, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to deal with this.

You’re back in ten minutes. “Surprise. I had enough for two rooms. See you in the morning.” You toss a key in his lap and then reach in the back for your duffel bag, hauling it over your shoulder and heading inside one of the rooms before Dean can say anything.

.

.

.

A nightmare wakes him up at two in the morning.

He lurches from the bed, sweat dripping off his forehead and making his t-shirt stick to him, his chest heaving as he struggles to get his bearings.

 _Here. Alive. You’re not there, not anymore. Above ground. Alive_. He repeats it over and over, a mantra he can’t let himself forget.

He’s just pulling a shirt on over his head when he hears it - the beginnings of that piercing noise again, and he braces himself, eyes flicking around the room wildly, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from.

He’s just about to clamp his hands over his ears when he hears you in the room nextdoor, a scream of his name escaping you.

Dean doesn’t think, he just moves as quickly as he can, gun clenched in one hand as he runs out the door, pausing for a half second in front of your room before he kicks the door open.

You’re crouched on the floor next to your bed, eyes screwed shut tightly and hands clamped over your ears. He can’t remember ever seeing you look so scared.

“Kid,” he says, walking close, kneeling in front of you.

“Dean,” you say, but it’s barely a whisper, and something about your voice weaves itself around his heart and clenches tight. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper, taking your hands away from your head. Your wide eyes meet his. “Did you see it?”

“I didn’t see anything, I just heard you screaming.” Dean says, willing his voice to stay steady. He’s unnerved seeing how upset you are. You’ve always been cool, calm, and collected.

“It was here, in the room, I didn’t see it, not really, but Dean– this is… we are way out of our league here.” You tell him, meeting his eyes again. He’s taken aback by the seriousness in your eyes.

“Come on… we need sleep. We shouldn’t be separated.” Dean says, surprising himself by rising to his feet and holding his hand out for you to take, pulling you upright with him.

You go willingly, too quiet for what he’s used to. It scares him - the way this thing affected you. He scratches at the days-old stubble on his jaw. Why would it go after you, and not him? Was it an attack? A warning?

“Make yourself comfortable,” Dean says, watching as you stand at the foot of the bed staring at it. “Look, just– we both need sleep. I won’t– I’m not gonna put the moves on you, if that’s what you’re…”

“God, Dean. Shut up.” You snap, and Dean feels it as if it were a physical touch. He recoils slightly, rocking back on his heels.

“Fine.” He gets into bed, not waiting for you to do the same.

He forces himself to close his eyes and has a brief moment of hoping he won’t have another nightmare before he falls asleep.

.

.

.

There’s sunlight on his face and his right arm is asleep.

He opens his eyes and feels pressure on his fingertips. His first instinct is to freeze, but then he remembers. You.

He looks over, and his heart stutters at the sight - you’re on your side facing him, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Your arm is wound around his, your hand firmly in his grasp as you sleep.

Right then, watching you sleep, Dean knows. The feelings he had for you when you were younger haven’t gone anywhere. They’re just there, under the surface, waiting for him to be vulnerable enough to let them back in, letting the tendrils of affection and attraction in equal measure wrap around his heart and squeeze until it aches.

All this time, he’s pushed every thought of you away. He’s pushed away the image of your face when he told you to leave Bobby’s and not come back, and he’s pushed away anything you’ve ever made him feel, because your leaving was inevitable.

Dean has always known that. Everyone leaves.

He disentangles himself from your embrace.

It’s better this way.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader finally find Sam. Some hurt feelings are voiced. There’s an argument. Again. (This chapter is mostly filler, sorry about that)

The morning is… weird. Dean is ignoring you, like usual. It feels extra tense, though. You try to write it off as just Dean focusing on finding Sam, and figuring out whatever is trying to chase him down.

You feel awkward only because of the way you’d broken down the night before. You can’t remember the last time you were that terrified of something you were hunting. It felt so powerful, so out of your league, you couldn’t help the scream for Dean that erupted from your throat when you were cornered.

In the back of your mind you’re relieved knowing that he came for you without hesitation – you know he’d never let you get hurt, or worse. Still. You had to wonder, sometimes.

“Let’s go,” Dean says quietly, holding the door open for you. Sometime this morning, Dean had gone back to your room and cleaned up the best he could, grabbing your bag from the room and loading everything into the car.

You follow him out to the parking lot and see other patrons out and about - no one seems at all concerned about what happened the night before. How did they not hear it? See it? How didn’t they hear  _you_?

You shake it off, your attention once again on Dean, who is absentmindedly rubbing at the mark on his arm. You slide into the passenger seat, and almost feel relieved when he immediately turns the radio up when he gets in.

A distraction. That’s what you need.

The miles fly by.

You find yourself relaxing into the seat, the early morning sunshine warming your face through the glass. Your fingers tap out a rhythm on your kneecap, and you’re startled when you feel a hand settle over yours.

“Makin’ me nervous.” Dean says, not taking his eyes off the road. His fingers briefly close over yours, barely enough pressure for you to notice, and then his hand is gone.

You feel strangely bereft, afterwards.

“Sorry.”

He glances over at you for a second. “Are you… do you feel okay?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry for last night.”

“Something attacked you. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Still. I’ve never been the damsel in distress type.”

You lean against the seat back, head tilted towards him, and– is that a  _smile_? “Gotta admit,” he says, “I make a good knight in shining armor, though.”

“You wish,” you fire back, unable to let him have the last word.

He doesn’t say anything else, but that ghost of a smile remains on his face until the next time you stop for gas and snacks.

You head inside while Dean deals with the car, and your eyes dart around as you look around, still feeling wary. You’re picking over the snack aisle when you feel eyes on you, and someone standing behind you.

You reach into the inside pocket of your coat and grip the hilt of your knife before a familiar voice makes you relax. “Calm down,” he says. “It’s me.”

You curse softly under your breath. There was a time where you’d recognize Dean and Sam’s footsteps from paces away, but apparently that’s come and gone. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he reaches around you for a pack of oreos and trail mix. You raise your eyebrow, and he mirrors your expression. “What? I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

You laugh softly. Dean Winchester. Full of surprises. When you look back up at him to reply, he’s looking at you with an odd expression, but a blink and it’s gone. The morning has been too off kilter for your liking, so you don’t wait for him to say anything. You head up to the counter and refuse to let Dean pay, which has him grumbling all the way back out to the car.

The GPS on Sam’s phone is still turned on, and you know you’ll get to him within a day. It makes you nervous and excited all at the same time. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the youngest Winchester, but you’re also apprehensive about what you’ll find.

You hope he hasn’t made a deal.

You don’t want to see what Dean might do if it turns out he’s out of hell at the cost of his brother’s soul or life.

The distance between you and Sam shrinks, and suddenly you’re parked outside a hotel, both of you just sitting in the car as you stare up at the building.

“Ready for this?” You ask quietly.

He looks at you sharply. “It’s my brother. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The truce between you has apparently evaporated. “Just checking. We don’t know–”

“I know that he’s probably going to rush me once he sees us, so do me a favor and don’t let him kill me before we can get some answers, will you?”

“Dean, you know I want answers as much as you do–”

“Do you?” He asks, suddenly angry. “Or are you just here because Bobby asked you to tag along?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, Dean. No one makes me do anything.”  _Believe it or not, I still actually care about you_ , you don’t say.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dean says under his breath, getting out of the car before you can stop him or yell at him, or– whatever. You follow him begrudgingly, knowing he’s right and that Sam might actually try to hurt him if he doesn’t realize it’s actually the real Dean here.

Although, if he pulled him out of hell… why wouldn’t he be at the grave site? Or at the very least, why wouldn’t he be expecting Dean to show up eventually? There are too many questions. Your head hurts.

At the hotel room, you watch as the brothers reunite. Well, you don’t just stand there - Sam goes after Dean much like you and Bobby had, and you find yourself stopping him, meeting Sam’s watering eyes, telling him that yes, this is Dean.

“Wait– so you  _didn’t_  make a deal?” Dean asks.

“Why else would he be so surprised?” You grumble. Dean glares.

“I tried everything… no one would deal. Trust me, if I could have, I would have–” Sam says, interrupting Dean who tries to lecture him. “I would have! I know– I know we promised. But I couldn’t leave you down there. It wasn’t up to me, though.”

“Well who the hell got him out, then?” You wonder aloud.

“I followed a pack of demons to this town,” Sam says. “I thought if Lilith was still around… I’d… I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. But I didn’t tell Bobby where. I didn’t want to get him involved.” Sam looks at you, “You didn’t–”

“No!” You glare at him. “Why does everyone think I had anything to do with this?” You say, frustration bubbling up. You regret it immediately when you see the look on Dean’s face.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, why on earth would she risk anything to save my ass? Not likely.”

You feel like he’s slapped you.

“Is that what you think?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“Guys–” Sam tries to stop the impending fight, but you can feel it all coming to a head. All the tension of the last few days and the feelings that have built up over the years… you should have known it was always going to end like this.

“No, Sam, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

Dean’s pinching the bridge of his nose in that way he does when he’s frustrated. “Where are you gonna go–”

“You don’t have to pretend like you care, Dean!” You throw your arms up in defeat, “I’ll figure it out. I always have. Besides, it’s not like you need me here anymore anyway. You’ve got Sam. You’ve got your car. The way it was always supposed to be.”

Dean says your name, a quiet plea, but you’re too tired to stay and figure him out. In the back of your mind though a little voice is telling you to stay. Telling you that Dean’s in over his head here, especially if Sam wasn’t the one to get him out. If he didn’t do it, and Bobby didn’t do it… and there’s still the mystery of the burn mark on his arm.

You push out the doors of the apartment building, fuming, but something makes you stop walking, groaning in frustration. You’re going to stay, because like it or not, the Winchesters are just about the only family you’ve got left. It doesn’t mean you’re going to be nice about it, though.

As if reading your mind, Sam comes out the double doors after you, running a hand through his hair. “Hey,” he says, “Hang on.” He pulls you into a hug, the strength behind it surprising you. “I tried calling you…”

“I know.” You say after you pull away, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t– What was I supposed to do? You didn’t sound like you wanted anyone around.”

“How are you here?” Sam asks.

“Found him.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise. There’s not usually this many coincidences when hunting, and he knows it.

“I know, I know,” you say, before he can voice his concerns, “It’s weird. This whole thing is weird. I don’t get it. But we actually agreed on something– finding you.” You smile, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Needed the brains in this operation, after all.”

Sam laughs. “That was always you, and you know it.”

“Yeah, whatever, Stanford.”

“If you two are done with this touching reunion,” Dean interrupts, shouldering his way between you and Sam. “We have to get back to Bobby.”

You roll your eyes. “ _You_  have to get back to Bobby. I’m going home.”

Dean stops and turns to look at you. Something flashes in his eyes, and he opens his mouth like he has something to say, but no words come out. You find yourself waiting, almost hoping that he’ll apologize, or… something.

“Whatever.” He turns on his heel and heads towards the Impala, touching the hood of it reverently.

Out of earshot, Sam turns to you. “Come with us. I know Dean’s… Dean. But if he’s out and none of us did it… we need all the help we can get.”

He’s practically echoing Bobby’s words from the day before, and you sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted. Sam looks how you feel. You wonder, not for the first time, what he’s been doing since Dean went.

“Fine. But– you’re the middle man. Just be prepared.”

.

.

.

You’re sitting upright in the middle of the Impala’s backseat, elbows propped up on the seatback in front of you, struggling not to smile. The windows are down, the music is blaring, and you feel like you’re seventeen again, Dean at the wheel, and Sam at his place beside him.

After some ribbing about Sam douching up the car (he added an ipod jack, an  _atrocity_ ) - Dean fell right into old habits. There was little conversation about leaving the car from Bobby at the hotel and hitting the road in the Impala. Of course that’s what you were going to do.

There was also surprisingly little conversation about you joining the boys. Sam basically said he’d managed to change your mind and that you were coming with, and Dean just stared, not saying a word, jaw clenched.

You called Bobby to update him, and he gave you and the boys an address - a psychic friend of his named Pamela, who might be able to figure out who got Dean out of the pit. It meant another night on the road, but you don’t think Dean hates the idea, not when he’s behind the wheel of Baby once again.

It means another night in a motel, though, and you hate the dread you feel curling in your stomach at the idea of sleeping alone when you’ve apparently got some supernatural creature on your tail.

You won’t mention it to Sam or Dean though, not wanting to seem weak. You don’t miss the look Dean sends you when you get your back out of the backseat and head into the motel office with them both.

“Hey–” Dean says, stopping you with a hand on your elbow, “I think you should stay in the room with us.”

His voice is gentle, and you swear you’re going to get whiplash by the time this is all over because of Dean’s mood swings.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Kid. Come on…”

You pull your arm from his grasp. “Jesus, Dean. You basically told me to fuck off earlier.”

He sends a placating look at the front desk clerk, and you send her a small apologetic smile. Dean pulls you closer to the door, lowering his voice. “If that thing comes back and comes for you–”

“You’ll feel guilty. I get it, Dean.”

“That’s not– that’s not what I meant. Dammit, kid, I’m just–”

“Got a room,” Sam interrupts, looking between the two of you. “Dean said you were bunking with us…”

“Of course he did.” You grab the key from Sam’s hand and storm out the door, not waiting to see if they’re following you. These few days are truly going to kill you if whatever’s hunting you and Dean down doesn’t get to you first, you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read more of my SPN writing, check out my [Tumblr blog!](https://sunlightdances.tumblr.com) You can also read/reblog this story there if you like my work. If you like it, consider [buying me a ko-fi!](https://ko-fi.com/sunlightdances)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re playing fast and loose with canon, friends. Dean, Sam, and the Reader make it to Pamela’s to try to get some answers about who pulled Dean out of hell. Dean has a realization.

Sam is scouring his laptop for any lore that could explain the mark on Dean’s arm, and Dean is researching this Pamela woman Bobby’s sending them to. He trusts Bobby, but he wants to go in prepared. He’s never been one for psychics poking around in his brain.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. A game of rock paper scissors let Sam have his own bed, and to his credit he didn’t even gloat. Still, you’re on the opposite side of the bed from Dean, sitting as far away as possible without actually falling off the mattress.

Dean knows he fucked up earlier. He’s just– he’s confused and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him. He’s worried that something’s going to come after the three of you again tonight, hence his suggestion that you all share a room.

He tells himself it’s not just because he wants you close, because that’s absolutely not it.

It’s not, even though he feels immeasurably better knowing there’s not a wall separating the two of you, knowing that he’ll at least be able to help you if something should happen.

“I’m going to get some food,” Sam announces, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Burgers?”

“I’d kill for a good burger right now,” Dean agrees. “Kid?” He nudges your foot.

“Sure,” you say, your jaw opening up in a massive yawn. “Some fries too?”

Sam chuckles. “You got it. Be back in a bit.”

You go back to your book, and Dean looks back at the laptop in front of him, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you for once.

“Can I ask you something?”

He glances at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, sure. I guess.” He turns to face you more directly.

“Do you remember it?”

It’s not the question Dean expects you to ask. He knows what you mean, and he has no idea how to answer you. The truth? He remembers every single second. He re-lives it every night.

“I don’t remember a thing. It’s like– a dream that you forget once you wake up.” He lies, and if his voice is a little shaky, if it’s obvious that he’s talking out of his ass, you don’t call him out on it.

“Do you–” You start, but then shake your head and fall silent. It irritates Dean for a reason he can’t explain, knowing that you’re reining yourself in around him.

“Just ask the damn question, sweetheart.” He snaps.

There’s no anger, no offense, nothing on your face. “Do you really hate me this much?”

Your words seem to echo in the room. Dean has no idea what to say. He doesn’t even know what to  _feel_. Images flash like a movie through his mind, of the first time he met you at Bobby’s when his Dad dropped him and Sam off for a summer. He remembers the first time he looked at you and thought…  _maybe_. He remembers the hurt he felt when he overheard you telling Sam you thought it was a good idea that he apply to college.

He remembers, distinctly, wanting to push you away the minute he realized how much you really meant to him, because he wasn’t sure he’d survive you leaving him. Not you.

“I don’t hate you.” He says, his voice hoarse.

You shake your head, “Then why–”

“I’ve  _always_ –” The sound of the door opening stops Dean’s confession, and his eyes shut involuntarily.

“Sorry,” Sam looks between the two of you. “Cheese on both burgers?”

.

.

.

The night is not easy. Dean feels the space between you like a physical wall, and knows you spend half the night awake staring at the ceiling like he is.

His mind won’t quiet. He’s thinking about you, about the things he never said, and he’s thinking about what’s going to happen over the next few days as he gets closer and closer to unraveling this.

He still has to have the inevitable conversation with Sam. He has to figure out where to go from here, because he honestly doesn’t know how to even begin to describe to his brother what he went through.

The night is uneventful, as far as whatever’s hunting them goes. He still feels almost static electricity every time you move, every time you accidentally brush up against him in the small, creaky bed.

There’s so much he wants to say to you. He wants to apologize. He wants to ask you why you left all those years ago. He wants to know if him asking you to say would have made any difference.

He wants to know how long you’re going to stay now.

He doesn’t say anything.

In the morning, he busies himself making coffee and tries not to feel your eyes on him from across the room. Sam assumes the two of you had another fight, and Dean lets him think it. It’s easier to explain.

Sam hears from Bobby that Pamela is another day’s drive, maybe two. You pack your bags in near silence, and get in the car as soon as the sun comes up.

You’re in the backseat, and Dean hates how comfortable you look there. It makes him want to see you there more often.

After an hour of driving and another ten minutes of begging him to stop, Dean pulls into a rest stop so you can get out. While you practically race off to the restrooms, Sam gives him the look. Dean knows that look.

“What,” he practically growls.

“When are you going to–”

“If you finish that sentence the way I think you’re going to…”

Sam’s eyes are imploring. “We were kids when she left. She was hurt, and she’s regretted it ever since.”

Dean’s eyes snap to Sam’s. “She tell you that?”

Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “It’s obvious, dude.”

Dean clenches his jaw, looking out the window. “She had years to come back. She never did.”

Sam’s voice is quiet. “You ever think that she didn’t feel like she could?”

“We have bigger fish to fry, okay? We don’t have time for this.”

“It’s going to be hard to figure this out of you two are at each other’s throats the entire time!” Sam says, frustrated. “Look, I know there’s bad blood there and you’ve both said things–” He stops, sighing. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be. Maybe it’s time to put all that behind you.”

Dean watches as you walk back towards the car, and the thing is – his gut knows Sam is right. His head knows it too. His heart? That’s an entirely different story.

Sam gets out so you can climb into the backseat, and you fold your legs underneath you. “So? How long before we get to Pamela’s?”

“Long enough that we’re going to stop for some food.” Sam says. His tone makes it sound like a suggestion, but Dean hears it for what it is. He’s begging for some normalcy and some conversation.

Dean rolls his eyes, but puts the car in drive. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror and sees your questions swimming there. Perceptive. He shakes his head minutely. If Sam wants to have a pseudo-family meal, then that’s what they’ll do.

Dean finds a relatively crowded diner off the interstate that advertises the “best pie in three counties”, so really it’s a no brainer. He missed pie.

The three of you crowd into a booth - you and Sam on one side, and Dean on the other. An uncomfortable silence settles over you. Dean hates it, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. A pleading look to his brother when you’re not looking has Sam clearing his throat, asking about what you’ve been up to over the last year or so.

“Hunting, mostly.” You shrug, sipping your Coke. “I took a few odd jobs here and there, waitressing and stuff. But I just kept falling back into it.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, wryly, “I know how that goes.”

“Who are you hunting with?” Dean asks, and kicks himself when it comes out as more of a demand. “I– anyone we know?” He tries to soften the question.

You rattle off a few names, but he doesn’t recognize any of them. He hopes Bobby put you in touch with these people, and that they aren’t just strangers. For a reason he doesn’t want to identify, he doesn’t like the idea of you putting your life into other people’s hands.

The three of you order lunch, and it gets quiet again as you wait for your food. You’re thumbing through your phone absently, and Dean wonders if someone’s waiting for you. The thought makes his stomach turn.

Sam shares some hunting stories and you do too, but it’s half hearted at best. Everyone’s preoccupied.

Dean rubs absentmindedly at the mark on his shoulder through his shirt with his free hand while he eats and listens to you and Sam chatter away. When he looks up, you’re staring at him, eyes laser focused on his hand.

He drops his hand to his side, and your eyes meet his briefly before focusing on Sam and whatever story he’s telling.

Dean hates that he likes the way it feels when you’ve got your eyes on him. He shakes it off, reminds himself that all this is temporary, and that you  _chose to leave_. It was your choice.

It’s just the close quarters of the last few days making him feel like he’s going out of his mind, his palms itching to touch you, to see if the feelings he was hell bent on repressing when he was nineteen years old are still there, still strong enough to knock him backwards.

“Dean?” Sam brings him out of his thoughts. “We were saying we probably shouldn’t put this off any longer.”

Dean doesn’t look at you, can’t look at you. “Yeah,” he agrees noncommittally, “Let’s go.”

There’s money thrown on the table and a few extra french fries eaten, and then the three of you are piling back into the Impala. You have to squeeze by Dean to get into the backseat, and he grits his teeth at the feeling of your shoulder brushing is chest and the smell of your perfume.  _Jesus,_ he chastises himself,  _get it together._

An hour in the car is too long.

He’s on edge, and can’t shake the feeling that everything is going to go to shit once they get to Pamela’s. He wants answers, but part of him is afraid of what they’re going to find out.

.

.

.

Dean’s got the pedal almost to the floor boards as he drives as far as possible away from whatever the fuck just happened.

Something just burned Pamela’s eyes out.  _Burned them_.

His hands are clenched tightly to the wheel.

Bobby met them at the hospital an hour earlier and then kindly told them to “get the hell out of here before whatever it is comes back”, and Dean didn’t think twice.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows you curled in on yourself, arms clamped around your bent knees. Dean tries not to remember the panic on your face when it happened.

_Pamela is screaming - the light in the room and the high pitched noise too much for any of them to take._

_On instinct, Dean reaches for you and for Sam, his hand gripping your elbow and Sam’s shoulder as you all turn away from the light. When it fades, it’s so quiet, Dean assumes the worst._

_“Oh my god…” You whisper, and Dean lets go of you as he turns around._

_“Fuck,” he curses, “Is she–”_

_“She’s alive, but barely,” Sam confirms, two fingers pressed to Pamela’s pulse. He starts talking to her quietly, trying to rouse her._

_When she comes to, she just says one word - “Castiel.”_

_“I’m calling Bobby,” you say, and Dean finds himself whipping around, eyes a little wild._

_“Stay in the room.” He says. It’s a demand. “We’re not getting separated. Not anymore.”_

_You don’t argue, don’t say anything else, but he watches your hands shake as you pull your phone out of your pocket and start to dial. You start to talk, urgent but quiet, as Sam tries to calm Pamela down._

_For once in his life, Dean doesn’t know what the fuck to do. His instinct is screaming at him to run. To get out, to get far away, to stop trying to figure this out, because it’s just getting more and more violent every time._

_Bobby arrived in record time with fake IDs and a story already made up for when he took Pamela to the hospital. You insisted on going with, and Dean felt like this whole thing was his fault, so into the Impala you went, all of you pacing in the waiting room while Bobby spun some unbelievable tale to get Pamela admitted._

_He sees the way your hands are still shaking, and wants to go over to you, pull you into him, make you calm down, try to convince you everything was going to be okay, and for a second the urge is so strong he_ hates  _you for it._

_The feeling is there for a split second before he swallows hard and watches as Bobby comes back, telling them Pamela would live, but that they need to go. Because whatever’s after them is sending a warning, and they can’t be here in a hospital where so many people have no idea what could be coming for them._

Now, Dean doesn’t know where the fuck to go or what the hell to do. He’s floundering, until Sam starts talking. “Dean… this is stupid, but– what if we summon it?”

Dean watches you sit upright.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“I know you two like your hare brained ideas, but–”

“I think we should do it.”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “You saw what happened to Pamela.”

“What other choice do we have? This thing is powerful and it  _pulled me out of hell_. I need to know why.” Dean hears the pleading note in his own voice and fights off the desperation he feels. He needs answers.

Part of him knows that getting answers means you leaving shortly after, but he can’t keep imagining something worse happening to you because you got tangled up in this before they figure out what they’re dealing with.

He needs to end it.

Tonight.

.

.

.

They find an abandoned barn off the beaten path and decide it’s a good a place as any to do the summoning ritual.

Sam is inside while Dean busies himself getting supplies from the trunk, you hovering there, ready to help if he asks for it. When his hands are full, you take over, his murmured instructions to you about where to get the rest of what they need distracting him from thinking about what’s about to happen.

You lean over to reach something, and a glimmer catches his attention. When you straighten, he sees the necklace that’s fallen out of the collar of your shirt. The gold chain and single star pendant makes his breath catch.

“Your necklace.” He says, all he can manage.

You freeze like you’ve been found out. You try to act casual, but he sees how uncomfortable you are in your stance. “Thought we might need some luck.”

It’s right there, under the stars on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, that it becomes crystal clear to Dean. For his entire adult life, he ran from this, ran from his feelings, ran from  _you_. As a teen, he pushed you away for fear that you’d see who he really is - his father’s son, a man who kills and hurts and gets hurt in return, and that you’d realize you’re too good for him.

He pushed you away, forced you out of the only home you’d ever known, because he thought in some dumb, teenage part of his brain, that it would be better for you in the long run.

He broke your heart and his own in the process, and he’s beginning to see it was all for nothing, because you’re here, wearing the necklace he bought you for your sixteenth birthday, because you thought it would bring you luck. You and  _him_  luck.

“Are you okay?” You ask, and he realizes he’s been staring, heart in his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I didn’t realize you still had that.”

“You gave it to me.” You say simply, and he opens his mouth to– he doesn’t really know what he’s going to say, spill his guts probably – and then Sam is coming towards them, signalling that he’s ready when they are.

“Ready for this?” You ask, and Dean shakes his head.

“Hell no.”

You snort. “Time to face the music.”

Dean stops short, wanting to tell you–  _something_. He has no idea what’s going to happen, but he can’t make the words come out. “Stay sharp in there,” he settles on.

You nod.

You, Dean, and Sam all step into the barn and shut the door behind you, the sound of it sounding as ominous as possible.

Dean prays to whoever’s listening that you make it through this.

He’s got something to tell you afterwards, after all.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter I wrote that originally was intended to be a oneshot. There’s a particular line of dialogue in here that inspired this entire fic. One more chapter after this one, folks. Thanks for sticking with me.

You take a deep breath, the sound of it rattling through your rib cage on its way out. It’s silent in the old barn. Almost too quiet.

Your mind keeps flashing back to the way Dean was looking at you outside, the way he keeps half confessing things to you… you’re at your wit’s end.

You know deep down inside you that Dean Winchester doesn’t hate you. Just the same, you’ve never hated him, even after he basically stomped on your heart.

It’s time to put it in the past. There are bigger things to worry about, and you can’t lie - you’re terrified.

Pamela is out of the ICU now, according to Bobby, but blind, obviously. You’ve never seen anything like that. You think the sound of her screams will stay with you for the rest of your life, as will the crazed look in Dean’s own eyes during the attack as he held onto you and Sam for dear life.

And now you’re summoning whatever did it. Truly, probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever been a part of as a hunter. Sam’s fidgeting and Dean is pacing. The ritual has been done. The summoning is over. Now… you just wait. You’re still struck by the absolute silence.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re not alone.

Suddenly, the doors to the barn begin to shake. The lights flicker, and sam and Dean both ready their rifles filled with rock salt. You do the same, the sawed-off comfortable in your hands despite the way your hands are trembling. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, though you can’t get rid of the feeling that tells you you’re in way over your head.

A clap of thunder, and then there’s a man standing there. Piercing blue eyes, almost blank expression on his face, but somehow still an intense look in his eyes. The look he’s giving you all makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

He takes a step forward, right through the devil’s trap, and your heart starts to race. “What the fuck…” you breathe, feeling Sam and Dean come closer on either side.

Almost as if on cue, the three of you begin firing, your rock salt doing nothing to slow down the man striding towards you like he’s on a mission. Your heart stutters again when he gets close enough to touch.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks, and you want to smack him for being so flippant.

The man’s voice is deeper than you expected and seems to echo around the barn. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”

A beat, and then Dean’s smirking, the idiot. “Thanks,” he says snidely before lunging forward, the demon knife in his hand, and stabs the man in the chest, almost to the hilt.

It does nothing.

“Shit,” you say, and take a step forward, Sam heading up the rear. Before you can do anything, the man is turning to face Sam, two fingers on his forehead, and then Sam slumps to the ground.

Dean curses, and your eyes widen when he turns his attention on you, but the man is already there in between the two of you, pressing his fingers to your face before you can defend yourself.

Everything goes black.

.

.

.

“Wake up, kid. Come on,” is the first thing you hear, Dean’s voice low and worried. “She’s not waking up.”

“Give her a minute. It took me a second too,” Sam replies.

You groan in response, and can almost feel the relief palpable in the room.

“What happened?”

“A fuckin’ angel of the Lord. That’s what happened.” Dean says, and underneath his posturing, you can hear the fear there.

You sit up, with his help. “He’s– what the hell did he want?”

Dean almost smiles, probably at your choice of words. “Said he was the one who got me out of hell. He said he did it–” Dean swallows, face turning serious. “Said he did it on God’s order. That I had a job to do.”

“Dean, what the  _fuck_.”

He pulls you to your feet, and Sam steadies you on your other side as you get your bearings.

“I– I’m not really sure where to go from here.” Dean admits, and it shocks you, really, to see him being vulnerable like this.

“We have to find somewhere to sleep.” Sam says, always the level head. “Let’s get a room and we’ll call Bobby. We should probably head back to his place next, anyway.”

“Two rooms,” you tell Sam on the way to the Impala. He gives you a look, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know he wishes you and Dean would just hash things out once and for all, and there’s no way he’s missed how differently Dean is acting now.

You just can’t quite face it. After everything that happened today… the prospect of finding out whatever Dean was trying to tell you earlier today… it scares the hell out of you and you’re not sure how to deal with it.

Call it fight or flight, but it is what it is. You need a break.

The neon lights of a motel are like a beacon, and Dean practically speeds into the parking lot. He’s rattled and it makes you nervous.

Sam goes into the motel office while you hang out by the car with Dean. He’s fidgeting and you find that you want to put a hand on his arm, or his shoulder… find some way to comfort him. You haven’t had that feeling in a really long time.

“You coming with us to Bobby’s?” He asks, breaking the silence. It feels like a loaded question.

You dig the tip of your boot into the dirt, creating a pattern. “Not sure yet. Need to get my car eventually.”

He nods. “Is that the only reason you’d go back there?”

It’s not the question you think he’s going to ask, and you have no idea how to answer him.

Saved by the bell, the ringing above the door signals Sam’s exit from the building, and you heave a sigh of relief when he hands one key to you, and keeps another in his fist.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You say, grabbing your bag out of the backseat and slinging it over your shoulder.

You take two steps before there’s a hand gripping your elbow. Your heart practically stops when you turn around to meet Dean’s eyes. He lets go almost immediately, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Just– don’t leave without saying something.”

You can’t place the look in his eyes and you’re not sure you want to. You’re not sure you want to deal with any of this, but somehow you should have known you were always going to get dragged back into life with the Winchesters one way or another.

You nod and tug your arm out of his grasp, smiling weakly at Sam over your shoulder as you find your room and push your way inside, the weight of the last few days obvious as your shoulders slump.

A shower is in order, and then you plan on sleeping for about fifteen hours. You know you should eat something, too, but you’re too exhausted, too freaked out, too off your game to do anything other than collapse in your bed.

A knock on your door startles you awake after what feels like hours, but only turns out to have been about fifteen minutes. You stumble to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, immediately on edge.

“What?” You ask when you pull open the door, revealing the eldest Winchester on the other side, a sheepish look on his face and his fist still raised to knock one more time.

“You were asleep.”

You shrug. “Not for long. What’s going on?”

He swallows. “Nothing. I mean, nothing bad. I just– can I come in for a second?”

The nerves start up again. You feel anxious and feel like you want to leap out of your skin and sink beneath the earth. The dread coiling in your veins is only matched by what feels like anticipation.

You shut the door behind you, and watch as Dean rubs his jaw, pacing in front of the bed.

“Are you okay?” You echo your same question from earlier, because it really looks like he’s lost it this time.

“I have to– I need to explain something to you.”

You say nothing. You’re caught completely off guard, with nothing to go on here but the desperate look in his eyes. He takes your silence as permission to keep going.

“When we were growing up, you… you showed up one day and completely flipped our world upside down. It’s always been just me and Sam. We never knew how to handle someone else being there, but then there was you.”

You find your voice. “Is that why you were so awful to me?” It comes out harsh, more than you intended.

“I deserve that.” He looks down at his feet. “I deserve that and I deserve everything you’ve ever said about me or thought about me since that night.”

You immediately know he’s talking about when you left. You just can’t figure out why he’s doing this now, why he’s trying to explain this now. It was all so simple for you. There’s nothing to talk about, as far as you’re concerned.

“I pushed you away when we were teens because you made me feel things that I was nowhere near prepared to feel. I thought it would be easier…” He stops for a second, laughs bitterly, “thought you would be  _safer_  if you were as far away from me as you could get.”

“Dean–”

“Wait,” he says gently, “I have to get this out or I’ll never do it.” He takes a small step closer to you, meeting your eyes now. “I also thought I was protecting  _myself_. Killing two birds with one stone, you know?”

“Protecting yourself from  _what?_ From me?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks on the last word.

He smiles, but it’s sad. “You scare me.” Dean’s voice is raw, honest. It makes your heart rate speed up.

“Why?” Your reply is barely a whisper.

His voice cracks, “Because you could break my heart in half and walk away without a scratch.”

You have no idea what to say. You’re frozen, rooted to the spot. It’s all at once everything you’ve ever wanted to hear from Dean, and the last thing you ever expected.

“You’re so strong. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before. You came into my life, this spitfire full of loud opinions and the hardest left hook I’ve ever seen, and I knew… I knew that if I let myself feel these things for you, I’d never recover. You would. Because you’ve always been the strongest of the three of us. But me? I’d be ruined.”

A tear splashes off the end of your nose and startles you, because you didn’t even realize you were crying. You want to scream, want to tell him he’s so  _stupid_  for not just talking to you. This entire time, all these years… wasted. Because you both were so stupid for each other you couldn’t see the other’s feelings right in front of your face.

“So I put you down and I was cold to you and I pushed you away… and you want to know the dumbest thing of all?”

He takes a step even closer so he can reach out and use his thumb to wipe away a tear slowly tracking its way down your cheek. He’s close enough you can feel the heat radiating off him and can feel the way he’s shaking ever so slightly as he touches you.

“What’s the dumbest thing?” You ask, and his shoulders seem to curl in as he finally tells you whatever it is he’s been trying to say this entire time.

“It didn’t even work.” He whispers. “You left, and I moved on, and so did you, and you show up again… and it’s like I was punched right in the chest by all the feelings I thought I got rid of,” he says, grabbing your hand and placing it on his chest so you can feel the way his heart is pounding.

“Dean,” his name is a choked breath, the things you’ve never said to him stuck inside your throat. You swallow a sob that’s threatening to burst out and he steps up even closer, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“You’ve hated me for years and I deserved it. But trust me, sweetheart. You could never hate me as much as I do for what I did to you. You never deserved to feel like you didn’t have a home there. I even blamed you for leaving. The things I said…” He shakes his head.

“Can I say something now?” You ask shakily, a burst of confidence coming over you as you watch Dean practically bare his soul to you.

“You don’t need to–”

“Yes I do.” Your hand covers his, both of you locked there in a strange but wonderful embrace. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear something like this from you. I– Dean, I fell in love with you when I was sixteen years old.”

Dean’s eyes slide shut, a pained noise escaping his throat. You feel the exact same way - all this time wasted, all the time you both felt the same way but were too scared to say or do anything.

“If you think that I could walk away from you without a scratch… well, you don’t know me very well, Dean Winchester.” You say quietly, his fingers gripping yours almost painfully.

“We don’t, do we, though.” He says, “We don’t really know each other anymore.” He pulls back and his eyes rove over your face. “Or, at least I thought I didn’t know you. I thought you didn’t know me either. But you’ve still got that necklace. And you’re still able to look right through me, just like you always were.”

Something’s still eating at you. “Dean… why now?”

His eyes are so fucking green as he stares at you. “We went up against an angel today. I thought– at any point, that could have gone so far South. You could have died today.” His eyes are pained. “I went to hell and came back. And still the thing that scared me today was losing you before I had a chance to make things right. I didn’t– it made all my reasons seem pointless.”

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

You pull away and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I need to sleep. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Dean nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll let you get some rest. I just– I needed to say that to you.” He takes a few steps backwards towards the door. “There’s no pressure here, okay? This whole thing–” he gestures between the two of you, “it’s on me. It always has been. I just had to get it off my chest.”

He frowns. “Dumping all that on you wasn’t fair.”

“Dean.” You stand, coming closer to him. “That’s enough self blame for one day, okay? I just– I need to think. I’m not going to disappear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A small smile is on his face, one you’re beginning to think is reserved just for you. “Okay.” He grips the doorknob with one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When you shut and lock the door behind him, you finally let yourself cry all the tears you tried to hold back earlier, slumping down to the floor, the weight of everything that’s happened between you and Dean crashing down on you all at once.

A hell of a day.

What an understatement.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean have a talk following an emotional week full of Angels, summoning spells, and long overdue confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who's read, left a comment or kudos, or who's followed along on Tumblr. I'm really proud of this one and I hope you like the ending as much as I do.

_Two days later_

You’re running your hands over the spines of the books on Bobby’s bookshelves, trying to do some research to get your mind to focus on something when you hear Dean’s footsteps behind you.

He falters, so you imagine he’s leaning against the doorjamb, or hovering in the doorway trying to decide if he should come in or not.

“Need something?” You ask without turning around.

He sighs. “You should rest a bit. Eat something.”

“Thought we didn’t have time.”

A creak as he sits down on the leather chair in the corner. “Got nothing but time, now, I think.”

You snort. “You think.” You turn to look at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble growing on his jaw. “When’s the last time  _you_  slept?”

He looks down, avoiding your gaze. “Can’t sleep.” He mumbles.

The last day and a half has been nothing but awkward silence and lingering gazes when the other wasn’t looking. You can’t stop thinking about Dean’s confession, the genuine longing in his eyes and the near-desperation in his voice when he apologized for pushing you away all those years ago, and even as recently as the last week.

You have no idea what to do next.

Your heart feels bruised, the whiplash of yours and Dean’s emotions over the last few days doing nothing to assure you that what you’re feeling now isn’t just the result of an emotional conversation between one of your oldest friends.

You don’t want to make any irrational decisions. But at the same time, you know that the feelings you had for Dean when you were younger have never really gone away. You had chalked it all up to teenage angst at the time, but since seeing him again, even on the days when the two of you could barely stand to be in the same room together, it was still there, buried under the surface.

“Can we talk?” You ask, surprising yourself.

He tenses, but nods, swallowing hard. “I don’t-- you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You look at the floor. “Dean.” It sounds exasperated. “We can’t just-- keep this under lock and key. That’s the whole problem.”

He rubs at his jaw. “I don’t expect anything from you. I told you that.”

You nod. There’s a long silence where you both avoid the other’s eyes before you speak again. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we.” You laugh, even though you don’t really find it that funny. “This whole time, we could have been--”

His head snaps up, bright eyes finding yours. There’s something sharp in his eyes that you can’t place. “We could have been… what?” He stands up, taking a half step towards you before he stops himself. “You said-- when you were sixteen--”

“Dean, don’t be an idiot.” You snap, embarrassed and frustrated. “I said I  _fell in love_  when I was sixteen. I never stopped having feelings for you, I just never said anything because I thought--”

A whoosh of air as he takes three giant strides towards you, and then he’s there, in your space, one hand sliding into your hair and the other on the small of your back as he pulls you towards him, a noise of surprise escaping you before he captures your lips in a searing kiss, nearly bending you backwards with the force of it.

It only lasts a few seconds, but even after the kiss ends, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but press his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry--” He breathes, “I should have asked you before I kissed you. I didn’t--”

“Stop apologizing.”

Your hands move from where they’d been gripping his broad shoulders, sliding down his arms. You stop one hand as it lands over the mark on his arm, and he shivers, meeting your eyes briefly.

“You died,” you whisper, “and Sam called me on the phone to tell me. I thought you died without ever--” You have to stop for a second, the memories of that day swirling in your mind.

Dean takes a step back, his eyes downcast. “I don’t want to-- we’re going too fast.”

Your heart sinks, but the little voice in your head tells you he’s right.

“We’re both-- this has been a long week, and I can’t--” He stops, sighing. He seems frustrated, like he doesn’t know what to say. “I can’t do this the wrong way. I already wasted enough time. Almost died without you ever knowing…” He trails off. You already know what he was going to say.

You nod. “Okay. So what do we do now?”

.

.

.

It turns out what you do now is go back to the way things used to be, at least until you can get your head on straight.

You think Dean doesn’t want you to go, but he doesn’t say anything. He and Sam walk you to your car and he grumbles something about the transmission, popping the hood and taking a look before you can tell him not to.

“Something’s different,” Sam comments, and there’s a glint in his eye. You still think he’s the smartest of all of you.

“We’re-- we’re okay, Sam. We’re figuring it out.”

“Good.” He hugs you, telling you to be safe and not to go too long without calling.

Bobby comes out and follows Sam’s hug with a quick one of his own, gruffly telling you not to be an idiot and not to be gone longer than a few weeks.

You already know you’re going to come back. All roads were always leading you here, right back to this found family that you didn’t know you missed so much until you were without them.

After everyone makes themselves scarce, Dean shuts the hood and comes around to the side of the car. You’re beginning to suspect he was just waiting to get you alone, and the thought makes you smile, even as you roll your eyes. He looks so  _smug_.

“You think you’re real smart, huh? Transmission my ass.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t need an audience.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Why? Planning on doing something untoward?”

His eyes darken. “Don’t tempt me.” He takes a half step closer and his fist clenches at his side like he’s trying not to reach for you. “You sure you have to go?”

You look down. “Yeah. I-- I need to get my head right. The last few days have been… a lot.”

When you look back up, he’s smiling softly. “Yeah. Angels, and everything.”

“That too.”

He comes a little closer. “I know this is a good idea, but I’m having a real hard time figuring out why I’m letting you drive away from me again.”

“You’re not  _letting me_  do anything,” you chide gently. “I just need some time. A few weeks.”

He nods, sighs. “Be careful. Just-- call if you need anything.”

He reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. You feel that bolt of electricity race up your arm that happens whenever Dean touches you, and again you kick yourself for not telling him sooner, for not-- just facing whatever the hell this is. This whole time, you could have been here, with him, with Sam… the world would have been easier to deal with.

But you have loose ends to tie up before you even think about coming back here, back to jumping into whatever crazy the Winchesters have found themselves in this time.

You try not to watch him in the rearview mirror as you go.

.

.

.

_Six weeks later_

Dean’s pacing again.

He knows Sam and Bobby are watching him, but he can’t help it.

A 3am text telling him you were coming back was all the warning he had, and he had no idea what to expect. It’s been a month and a half of a few texts, one phone call, just checking it. He didn’t want to be overbearing, and he suspects you didn’t want to seem clingy, but there’s something there under the surface.

Feelings known, not having to hide affection anymore… it’s a heady feeling and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t dying to see you today. He just wishes he could quit being so damn obvious about it.

“She’s here,” Sam calls from the front porch, and Dean feels like a fucking teenager with sweaty palms.

He heads outside with Sam and Bobby, and he feels the breath being punched right out of him when you get out of your car, hair long and flowing in the breeze, glinting in the sunlight.

He hangs back, lets everyone say their hellos, still feeling awkward and like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. When you turn your eyes on him, everything else goes blurry.

He’s had time to think since you’ve been away, and begrudgingly agrees it was a good idea to have a bit of separation. Too many heightened emotions could’ve led to some rash decisions and he’s happier now that he’s had time to think about what he wants. It’s you, it always has been, and he was stupid to ever think that he could outrun this, when in reality it’s all he’s ever really wanted.

_Even if you lose me, I will find you  
_ _There's no way to stop it, so don't try to_

A twang of a soft country song he heard on the radio one night filters through his mind, and he knows now why it always reminded him of you.

He’s been afraid to let anyone get close for his entire life. Wondering when and waiting for the inevitable - for someone to get hurt, or someone to get killed, or someone to realize that this baggage wasn’t worth it.

So he pushed and he pushed and he shoved you away with all his might before you could suffer the same fate as everyone else he’s ever loved. He never really took the time to think about what that truly meant, and he knows he’ll regret it forever. He’s always felt connected to you and he should have just told you that from the start.

He wants to stop regretting things, he wants to start moving forward. He’s been given another chance at life -- yes, by an Angel, which-- who knows what the hell that’s going to mean going forward -- and he doesn’t want to waste another second taking you for granted.

He feels better after a few midnight phone calls with you, too, telling him you were all in, you were ready now and ready to do this with him. It was all he could do not to swallow past the lump in his throat as he realized you felt something for him as deeply as he does for you.

“Just gonna stare at me?” You ask, coming to the bottom of the porch steps. Your eyes seem brighter, your stance taller, everything about you more confident, more happy. He remembers this, remembers the itch under his skin to touch you, to pull a laugh out of you, to always have you closer, closer.

_Oh, I used to be scared of the wilderness, of the dark  
_ _But not anymore, anymore, no_

_Fuck it_ , he thinks, coming down the steps quickly and cupping your face in his hands, frowning when he notices a scratch on your temple leading up to your hairline.

“Occupational hazard.” You say lightly, a little breathless. “I’m okay.”

“You’re-- you’re staying?”

“If you want me to be here, I’ll be here.”

_Running like a river, trying to find the ocean  
_ _Flowers in the concrete_

He feels his affection and love for you thrumming through his veins and he doesn’t want to waste another second, so he doesn’t. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours, a closed-mouth gentle kiss that still makes his pulse skyrocket, especially when your hands come up to grip his wrists, his hands still framing your face.

He can feel the heat come to your cheeks as he kisses you, and it calms him a little, to know that you’re just as affected by this as he is.

The kiss ends but he stays close, taking comfort in your soft breaths puffing against his cheeks. “I’m glad you’re back. I want you to stay. I’ve got a lot to make up for. A lot of lost time.” He murmurs.

“We’ve got time,” you say, and he wants to laugh, because even though now apparently Angels are real, and there’s a war coming, and who knows what the fuck is going to be chasing him down next, you sound so  _sure_.

You step away and practically demand he helps you with your bags, and he grins, slipping back into the banter he remembers from summer nights when he was a teenager.

He wants to know how this works now, wants to learn every new thing about you he doesn’t know yet, wants to know what makes you tick and re-discover everything that hasn’t changed. Because even though there are years of lost time between you, he thinks that it was always going to end up like this.

He was always going to end up loving you and sending a hope and a prayer that you would forgive him and maybe feel something for him, too.

It’s not to say that he’s not scared shitless or that he’s going to be perfect at this. You’re both hot tempered, opinionated, and headstrong. There’s going to be fights like there were before. But he’s not afraid of what he feels, not anymore.

As you head up the porch stairs, you send a little shy smile back over your shoulder at him, and he winks, praying like hell that you both can make this work, because he’s never wanted anyone like he wants you.

It was always you.

_Climbing over fences, blooming in the shadows_  
_Places that you can't see_  
_Coming through the melody when the night bird sings  
_ _Love is a wild thing_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, you can check out more of my writing here, or see what I'm up to on [Tumblr!](https://sunlighdances.tumblr.com)


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